


Shahrzad

by soap (Anaarlips)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Choking, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Inspired by Killing Eve (TV 2018), Multi, Slow Burn, Smut, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, background hitch/annie, background porco/colt, background reiner/eren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-28 18:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30143760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anaarlips/pseuds/soap
Summary: When Pieck said she wanted a job more exciting than stacking papers, getting caught in a game of cat and mouse with the world’s most elusive female assassin wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.Updates every Sunday! (unless I’m feeling spicy and update more frequently)
Relationships: Pieck Finger/Yelena, hange zoë/yelena
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	1. In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohofcourse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohofcourse/gifts).



  
“And so,” her gentle voice read, “Shahrzad traced the sesame biscuit with the tip of her finger, feeling out the grooves and edges, as murder threatened to leak into impatient dark eyes. And just as she felt the air grow deathly still, she breathed these words:

‘Have you heard the story of Ali Baba and the forty thieves?’”

Gabi sighed dramatically, flinging her head back into her pillow. “Why’d she marry that stupid king anyways?”

"That's a story for another night," Pieck laughed, closing the book shut. “But that is a good question!” She turned to Falco’s bedside, whose soft eyes had grown serious. What a strange expression to see on such a young boy. “What do you think, Falco?” she asked as she gently smoothed his furrowed brows with her thumb. 

“She cares about him,” his small voice replied. “She wants him to be happy.” 

Across the room, Gabi scoffed. 

“That’s stupid!” 

“No it isn’t, she loves him!” 

“He’s trying to kill her!”

Pieck placed her finger against her lips. “Shhh,” she whispered, and the children fell silent. “You’re both right.”

Confused, Falco looked up at her as she pulled the covers over his chest. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Hmm,” she gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. 

She turned to Gabi. Obediently, the little girl sank into the mattress, allowing herself to be tucked in.

With a gentle push, she slid the book into its home in the well-stocked bookcase. 

As she switched off the light and the nightlight began to glow, she smiled.

“I guess people are stupid when they’re in love, aren’t they?”

Her slender fingers wound around the door handle, guiding it to a quiet, firm closure. 

Softly, she tiptoed to the kitchen. The kettle was still warm on the stove, but the steam had long since drifted away from its spout. She reached across the counter to strike a match, holding the burning tinderwood in between her fingers as her left hand fumbled with the gas switch. Wincing at the creaking sound of the gas sputtering to life, she lowered the match to the opening. With a hiss, the blaze blossomed. She felt the lick of heat on her fingertips. “Damnit,” she muttered. The match’s angle had caused its own small flame to rapidly race up the wood, burning her in the process. 

Pieck tossed it in the sink and heard it fizzle. She turned on the sink with her elbow as she placed the kettle on the burner with her injured hand, which she then thrust underneath the cold spray. She counted to five as the sharp pain faded to a dull ache. Then, she shut off the water, shaking her hands dry before brushing the excess liquid on her pants. 

The armchair creaked in indignation as she sagged into its worn cushions. Curled up in the seat, she propped her chin up with one hand as the other slipped her phone out of her pocket into its grasp. Its screen lit up as she raised it to her face. Shifting into an upright position to free both her hands, she unlocked her phone, scrolling through her messages. She clicked on a group chat, pinned front and center at the top, labeled DILF Duty. 

Pieck snorted. Colt had the dumbest sense of humor. Good thing it wasn’t genetic, or Falco’d be in trouble. 

She backread the past few messages. Reiner had reminded everyone that Back to School Night started at 6 PM sharp. Porco called him a kissass. Colt added a laugh reaction to Porco’s comment, but then was quick to thank Reiner for the reminder. Reiner thumbs up’d the thanks, and said he needed to set up his catering tables in the MPR. Porco said he’d better get some of those croissants set aside for him, or so help him God he’d give Reiner the wrong classroom number. 

Pieck rolled her eyes before her fingers began to type. _Kids are in bed, dishes are done. Got an early morning tomorrow, so try not to make too much noise coming in._

Her fingers hovered over the send button. She paused, and then added a little smiling emoji, just to be cheeky. With a lazy tap, she sent the message. 

She scrolled through her camera roll, finding a picture she’d taken of Gabi and Falco eating dinner. Falco was politely twirling his spaghetti around his fork, while Gabi was stabbing away at her meatball, which oozed marinara. Her plate could easily be mistaken for a gory crime scene. 

Yawning, Pieck stifled the sound with her palm as she sent the picture to the group chat. 

The tea’s rumbles grew louder, a hook before its inevitable shrieking chorus. In practiced, steady steps, Pieck walked to the stove and shut off the gas before it had the opportunity to squeal. She flicked open the spout’s hatch, pouring the boiling water into her china teapot. Gently, she placed the kettle on the stove, her phone in her pocket, and the teapot on her wooden tray, nestled between the pistachios, biscuits, fruit, and—most essentially—the cup. 

Carefully, she lifted the tray, walking with practiced evenness as she ascended the stairs. Faded eyes, frozen in time, watched from their frames as she passed them: a picture of Colt’s parents, laughing as a little Falco tugged at Reiner’s leg, begging for a turn on his piggyback. One of the whole gang; Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Colt, Marcel, Porco and her, tanned little faces grinning at the cameras with mouths sticky with the juices of summer’s sweetest watermelons. Reiner, holding Gabi for the first time, on the verge of tears as he looked at her, swaddled in blankets, nestled tightly in his arms. Another, of Porco beaming with his hands tucked into the pockets of his varsity jacket, head held high despite the weight of the medals hanging from his neck. Her mother, reading aloud as Pieck, barely old enough to walk, rested in her lap, her sleepy yet inquisitive eyes peering at the pictures. 

Her heart panged. 

She turned right, leaning her forearm against the handle to her door as she nudged it open. Her desk was clean and clear, and she set the tray down on the scuffed dark wood. Kicking off her slippers, she shook her hair loose, stretching her back to hear a satisfying crack. 

She poured herself a cup of chamomile, letting it steep for a few minutes. As she waited, she scrolled through the news, sneaking pieces of pear into her mouth as she read. _Marleyan Oil Baron To Strike Historic Deal_ , one headline beckoned. Beside it, another read: _Five Years Later: The Aftermath of Paradis’s Coup_. In the heading picture, the Queen of Paradis's soft, delicate face acknowledged the camera with a gracious yet grave grey gaze. Behind her, standing vigilant, was a tall, slender woman with a thin smile which curled sourly, not quite reaching her sharp brown eyes. _No wonder_ , Pieck thought to herself as she skimmed the article. _Her queen has been through hell and back_.

When the tea was ready, she grasped the mug in her hands. 

Pieck shut the door, turning to face the wall. 

Four feet tall and eight feet wide, a massive cork board hung beside her desk, just adjacent to her bed. Smothered in the odds and ends of scrawled writings on paper and pinned photographs and pieces of paraphernalia, the fraying red thread led to one word, pinned in the center: Camilla. 


	2. Brothers in Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yelena's got mail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this in a few days but I'm too excited so boom throws this at you enjoy!

Zeke huffed.

“Smartass.” He tossed the postcard to the table. “Look, just get it done. Maybe we’ll play catch later.”

“Of course.” She tilted her head, smiling gently. “Don’t forget to take your cosamin. You can’t afford to lose that pitcher’s throw of yours to the maladies of old age.”

“Brat.”

Cursing under his breath, he hoisted himself to his feet. “Do your research, you overgrown giraffe.”

With a snort, she waved him off. “Looking a little creaky there,” she called after him. “I hear yoga is excellent for your back.”

Without turning, he flipped the bird.

The door firmly shut behind him with a satisfying click.

Yelena slid down the sofa, legs upright in the air as her body precariously hung off the edge, her hair barely dusting the hardwood floor. She closed her eyes and sighed. Lazily, she swung and kicked her right foot at the bookstand. With a shuddering creak, it collapsed, sending its contents scattering across the room. She flexed her abs, twisting her upper body towards the soft sound of falling cardstock.

Extending her right arm, long fingers blindly reached for the postcard. Her hand smacked the ground until she felt the edge of the paper brushed below her thumb. In a smooth motion, she flicked the postcard. Her left hand snatched the paper and pinned it to her chest. One brown eye scrunched open as she held the postcard above her face. Below a photograph of some famous dome-shaped building overlooking the ocean, there was a messily inked doodle. 

She leaned back too far, causing her head to smack into the floor. Barely registering the pain, she eagerly flipped the postcard over. The code was neatly printed along the edge, framing the otherwise plain and innocuous card. It was addressed to her Liberio flat.

“Lenochka,” she rolled her eyes, “missing you terribly. Don’t grow too much while we are apart!”

She hooked her legs around the sofa’s frame, and swung her body up and off the floor. Reaching for her computer, she shifted, folding her legs into a neat criss-cross-applesauce. The Macbook hummed to life in her lap. Idly, she clicked the debrief app. She glanced at the postcard. Along its edge, an innocuous string of numbers was printed neatly. “507,” she muttered, fingers dancing across the keyboard. “744, 69B, FG2.”

As she clicked the enter button, her breath stilled. She poured through the case file, body rigid and straight as her fingers mechanically scrolled and clicked through the pages. After a few minutes, the laptop shut close. Yelena closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and waited for the images in her mind to develop.

William D’Arcy, sixty seven years old. His round face, resting on a near-invisible neck, looked down at her with a watery gaze. He had more hair on his face than on his head at this point, and he seemed to take pride in it, if the bushy walrus mustache is anything to base it on.

An oil tycoon worth billions. D’Arcy sure dressed the part. His three piece suit was impeccably tailored to his large frame. Bespoke. The soft texture of the suit, the delicate folds of cashmere over his skin…. it had to be Super 200s worsted wool.

Reception at 10 PM. Slava International Hotel. She could feel the smooth chalkiness of carved stucco underneath her fingertips, hear the echo of voices within its pillared halls. Archways to duck behind. Gently bubbling fountains mingled with the scent of licorice and date palms.

Yelena smiled.

She opened her eyes, flipped open her laptop, and deleted the file. Delicately reaching for her phone, she speed-dialed Liberio’s finest tailor. The phone pressed softly against her cheek.

“Hello,” Yelena’s low, sweet voice drawled. “I would like to schedule an appointment with Hitch.”

“With Ms. Dreyse.” A new voice. Must be a new hire. She sure had a bit of an attitude problem with that clipped tone.

“Yes, with Hitch.” She seemed to expect Yelena to take the initiative, doesn’t she? Yelena waited. She wasn't the one getting paid to schedule appointments. She had all day to waste, and she didn't particularly care if it was spent playing with the new girl at Hitch’s.

The assistant clears her throat. “What time would you like to schedule the appointment with Ms. Dreyse?”

“She knows.” A barely suppressed sigh leaked through the phone into Yelena’s ear. She smirked.

“Would you please give me your name?” the assistant asked.

“She knows.” She could practically feel the frustration radiating through the phone. Examining her fingers, she patiently waited for the assistant to compose herself. So charitable.

“Very well. Thank you for your time, sir.”

“Madam, actually.” She let the statement hang in the air, finding delight in the growing discomfort of the new girl.

“Oh my god—I mean oh my—I’m so sorry—”

“Actually, why don’t you tell me your name? I would love to learn more about you from my dear friend Hitch.” Yelena’s voice hardened in mock outrage. 

“It’s—”

“I will see you at the appointed time.”

“Please, Madam, I’m—”

She hung up.

Pulling up iMessage, she scrolled through her contacts. With a tap, she opened a new message to Needles. 

_ Need a summer suit for tonight. White. _

Hitch's response came in seconds. 

_ You want me to sew a white silk suit for you in five hours  _ 😐

_ What, is it too hard for you? _

Hitch's texting bubble popped open and shut multiple times, as if she was deliberating whether or not to even bother arguing with Yelena. 

_ You're lucky I like blondes  _ 🙄 _ I'll just alter your earlier custom commission, it's in the back  _

_ You know you love me. _

_ Yeah, whatever. You owe me. See you at 6  _ 😒

__________________________

Pieck yawned as she reached below her desk to pull out her briefcase. She fiddled with the clasp. With a satisfying thump, she placed a mountain of files on the desk, lifting them up to loosely tap the stack into neat alignment.

Sipping absentmindedly at lukewarm, oversteeped tea, Pieck poured over the papers, scrawling notes in the margins and copying them onto index cards. 

_ These past cases all are connected somehow _ , she wrote.  _ Connections to commerce, political leaders, and major information companies were all affected.  _

She chewed on her lip, twirling her pen between her fingers. 

_ But those are all typical targets of assassination, anyways. What makes these particularly special? What ties these all together? _

Pieck rubbed at her watering eyes with the back of her hand, and popped a pistachio in her mouth, splitting the shell in between her teeth with her tongue. She sucked the lemon and salt before spitting out the husk. Her lips tingled with a delicious rawness. 

Feeling herself drift, she rolled her neck and cracked her back. 

It was going to be a long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yelena felt SO ooc yikes! I feel slightly better about my characterization of her in future chapters, but this one felt kind of rough.
> 
> As always, I love your comments and your constructive feedback!


	3. Meeting Sabut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work hard, play hard.

  
  


The suit fit her like a glove. The silk hung gracefully from her lean frame, loose enough to be relaxed, but the tailoring sharp enough to be clearly bespoke. Her hair perfectly matched the soft cream, and when she noticed herself in the mirror, she nodded in appreciation. 

She watched her reflection neatly tuck a black tie around her neck. As slender fingers guided the smooth fabric into a neat knot, Yelena winked at herself. 

Grabbing her favorite Italian loafers, she slid freshly sharpened blades through their bottom compartment. After some deliberation, she decided on an intricately engraved silver flask, full and heavy as it rested in her breast pocket. On the opposite breast, she tucked away a new Walther and its suppressor. She paused. _What am I forgetting?_

She scanned her room, before noticing the ashtray beside her bed. _Right._ Yelena grabbed her new pack of cigarettes, and slid it in the pocket of her pants next to her worn, dull silver lighter. _Matching flask and lighter: similar in sin and form._

Before heading out, Yelena spritzed the air with a warm sandalwood cologne, walking through the mist and tapping her wrists and collar bones with a few extra drops. 

Walking down the cobblestoned streets, she noticed the glow of a pub down the alley. Outside, teenagers loitered, their bodies leaning against the brick walls with easy apathy as they passed a blunt around. 

She checked her watch. _Seven o’clock. I’ve got time_. 

The door to the bar was solid wood, and the feeling of the weight swing forward with the push of her palms was satisfying. Inside, the air is thick and comfortable, full of women blowing off steam after work. 

To the side, there was a billiards table, where a few people chatted with the ease of an old friendship. A blonde with an undercut laughed as her friend leaned on their pole, gesturing animatedly as they recounted a particularly funny work story. Next to them, a man whose body oozed a tangible and ever-present aura of anxiety tugged at their shirt sleeve before their wild movements nearly smacked a glass to the ground. 

The eccentric laughed, patting the man on the back before grabbing their glass. They took a swig of whisky, and pounded the glass on a nearby table. Then, their lean form bent over the table, the back muscles beneath their ratty ABBA t-shirt flexing as they aimed their pole. Biting their lip, they slowly moved the pole backwards. With bated breath, they steadied their aim, staring down the length of the pole to assess the right amount of strength needed to create the ball’s desired trajectory. 

The pole thrust forward. The ball collided with the wall, which ricocheted across the table into two others, sending both gliding into their holes. 

“HELL yeah!” they whooped, swinging their pole towards the ceiling as they fist pumped the air. They turned to fist bump the blonde, who grinned. 

“Drink’s on the house,” she laughed, slapping them on the back. 

They sauntered up to the bar. The linoleum seat squeaked as they slid into the stool next to Yelena. 

The bartender walked over, wiping dry a newly washed glass. “Should I even bother asking?”

“One whisky,” they sang.

He scoffed. “It tastes like shit, at least drink it on the rocks.” 

They grinned. “Yeah? You’re used to drinking on the rocks? That’s kind of—”

“If you say ‘that’s kind of sus’, I’m not driving you home.” 

“I live like two blocks away!” 

“All the more reason to stop.” He leaned in, close. “I know where you live, four-eyes.”

“So much talking! Where’s my drink on the house?” 

Yelena chuckled quietly. The stranger turned around with a distracted look, and met Yelena’s dark eyes. Their lips parted; Yelena watched their throat constrict around a dry swallow. 

“What do you want, handsome?” their sweet voice lowered. 

She shifted, opening her long legs as they turned to face them. “You seem like someone with excellent taste,” she purred. 

The bartender coughed. “I’ll make it two whiskeys on the rocks if you never eyefuck someone in front of me again.” 

Yelena broke their gaze to watch him wipe down the bar with a lysol wipe. He then walked across the bar to open a drawer to retrieve a fresh dishcloth, which he clipped to a biener around his belt. With methodical precision, he stood on his tippy toes to grab two glasses from the case, and proceeded to wash them thoroughly. He dried them before placing them in front of Yelena and the stranger, and slid two ice spheres from individual casting molds into their glasses. Reaching down below the counter, he grabbed a bottle of whisky, and poured the amber liquid into each glass. 

He shot his friend one last look before walking off to serve the other customers, offering some privacy. 

“Thanks for the drink,” Yelena smiled. 

“Yeah, sure! It’s nice to share successes, isn’t it?”

Yelena lifted her whiskey, and her drinking partner mimicked her. “You know, some say alcohol is man’s worst greatest enemy,” they laughed. 

Her lids lowered. “Is that so?” she asked. “In that case, a toast: to love thy enemy.”

Their glasses clinked. The whisky filled her chest with a swelling warmness that settled comfortably in her stomach. 

They slipped out of the bar together. “Man, your footsteps are quiet,” the stranger joked. “You’re like a cat.”

Yelena humored them with a chuckle. “A very big cat.”

“Ha, yeah.” They thought for a moment, and then their eyes lit up. “A panther!” 

She glanced down at their grin, before the corners of her mouth quirked into a smirk of their own. “A panther?”

They nodded seriously. “I bet you have real sharp teeth.” 

“Would you like to find out?”

The summer night air was warm and close as they walked down the alley. She felt their fingers tentatively curl around her wrist. The flush in their red-tinged ears started to spread to their cheeks. 

“Your place is around the corner, right?”

“You remember that?” they asked. 

“I have a fairly decent memory when it comes to random little facts.” Her free hand raised up to scratch her undercut. “Not too good at the long term stuff, though.” 

They chuckled softly. “Yeah, I’m the same.”

The corner of Yelena’s lips quirked. “And here I was thinking _I_ was the one with my head in the clouds.”

It took a moment for the words to process in their brain. “Ha! You’re pretty darn funny, aren’t you?” 

“Maybe I just like the sound of your laugh.” 

They blushed, letting go of her hand as they stopped, fiddling with something in their pocket. Yelena’s eyebrow quirked. Just as she was about to speak, they pull a key out and twirl it in their fingertips.

“My flat’s right here, you charmer.” 

They walked up the stairs of the apartment complex together, before stopping in front of a weathered door. Yelena watched them slide the key through the hole. 

“Mind if I come in?”

They held open the door. “Ladies first,” they replied. 

She ducked under the threshold as she stepped through the doorway into the apartment, and heard them close the door softly, the latch sliding shut with care.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm I WONDER WHO THIS STRANGER IS. also heads up: next chapter Yelena's getting laid. 
> 
> also thank you guys so much for your comments! they make me so happy


	4. The Two Viziers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yelena's not one for friendship, but she's definitely a ride-or-die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has smut, so be aware. If you don't want to read the smut section, stop at "She laughed. “You could say that.”" and return at "A pack of face masks".

Dark eyes slowly scanned the apartment, picking it apart piece by piece by piece, hanging plant by hanging plant, colorful knitted throws on the pullout couch and framed photographs alike. 

The walls were a rich cream, and the floor was dark, shiny wood. Extremely good taste and a love for classic color combinations, which did not seem to translate to the absolute chaos strewn on every available surface, from table to kitchen counter. Scrawled notes in scattered notebooks threatened to fall as they hung precariously off the side of the coffee table. 

There were inked watercolor sketches of local flora and fauna pinned to the wall, and the messy doodles of a child’s eager imagination magnet-bound to the fridge. There were movie tickets taped to the back of a bookshelf, and envelopes worn and faded at the edges from being opened many, many times.

“It’s a beautiful flat,” Yelena commented. “You’re interested in science?

“Yeah!” they grinned, leading Yelena to their bedroom. “It’s just so exciting to learn the language of the universe and _apply_ it in ways that help people’s lives.”

They pointed at their eyelash. “See this? What do you see?”

Yelena laughed. “What, your eyelash?”

“It’s not just an eyelash!” they replied, as they opened the door to their bedroom. “It’s an entire ecosystem full of life completely dependent on the fact that I don’t rip my lashes out on a mere whim.”

Yelena sat on the bed, taking in her surroundings. The room was small enough to feel cozy, and spacious enough to feel open. Books and plants competed for sovereignty on the dark bookshelves. They framed a floor-to-ceiling window, which slid out to a little balcony, with two seats and a coffee table, which overlooked the neighborhood park. 

Across from the bed, there was a desk covered in errant papers, mugs half-full with coffee long grown cold, and a bowl of pistachios. She recognized a microscope alongside various bottles of chemicals. In the center, a laptop and a second monitor took prominence. 

On the chair, glaring at her were two of the ugliest cats she’d ever seen in her life. One was completely hairless, with bulging blue eyes, batlike ears, and wrinkly, puckered skin. The other...there was no way to accurately describe it other than it looked like a Moai from Easter Island with eerily human eyes. They both stared at Yelena with a visceral hatred. 

“Are they alright?”

They followed her line of sight. “Oh! Yeah. They’re kind of weird! Usually I’d support curiosity, I’m all for learning! But staring at us while we fuck is...strange. Weird, even.” 

They walked across the room to pick them up, resting one cat on each shoulder. 

“This one’s Sawney,” they pointed with their chin to the one on their right shoulder, “and the other’s Bean.”

Yelena smiled, propping her elbows on her lap as she leaned forward, resting her head in her palms. “How long have you had these friends of yours?”

Their face scrunched up in thought. “Hmm, about five years? I got them pretty much as soon as I moved to the city. You know, alone in a city, lonely, kinda needing to take care of someone….that kinda thing.” 

The sparkle in their eyes faded as their gaze grew distant. 

“I’m glad you have friends, now. You seem close with the people at the bar. Almost as if you’ve been friends for years.”

“Yeah, they’re great.” They gently dropped Sawney and Bean outside of the bedroom, and closed the door behind them. “How about you? I haven’t seen you at the bar before, are you new in town?” 

She laughed. “You could say that.”

They don’t press her further. “So, how would you like to do this?” they ask, fiddling with the belt on their pants.

“I’m happy with anything. I just have to be out of here by eleven.” 

“Gotcha. So that’s a solid two and a half hours, right?”

“Unless you get tired of me before our time is up.” Yelena smirked. 

Their fingers brushed against her stomach. Yelena held her breath as their fingertips moved dangerously close to brushing against her concealed gun. Unfortunately, there wouldn’t be an opportunity to brush it off with a ‘looks like I’m rod hard for you’ joke. She doubted the stranger would react pleasantly to the idea of allowing a tall, armed stranger into their bed. 

“Sorry, is it alright if you turn around, please?” 

Their hands flew back. “Yeah, yes! Of course!” They quickly turned away, instead fiddling with the buckle on their own belt. 

Yelena slid off her pants and suit jacket slowly, but deliberated on whether or not she should keep her shirt on. The bulletproof vest was lightweight, thin kevlar, but she didn’t want the conspicuous garment to be visible in the pile of clothes. 

At the same time, she didn’t want to sweat through her silk shirt.

_You’re going to be sweaty during the job anyways_ , she rationalized. _But you’ll have to wear a sweaty kevlar vest for three hours._ She decided to slide her shirt off, but she tucked the vest within the fabric. She gently placed it at the bottom of her neatly folded clothes, which rested on the desk chair, cat hair be damned. 

“You can look now,” she whispered. 

They stared at her in amazement. Their fingers, fisted around their shirt, bonelessly dropped to their sides. 

Yelena slowly walked towards them, before they stood in front of them. 

She leaned in, gazing down into their pupil-blown eyes. “Mind if I help?”

They nodded, slowly and wordlessly. 

With delicacy, she lifted their ratty t-shirt above their head. She reached to pick up their discarded jeans, her chest inadvertently thrust into their face as they bent over. Loosely folding them in her hands, she rested them on top of the bedside table. 

“Anything of interest in here?”

“Strap’s in the bottom drawer,” they breathed, “but you might need to adjust the harness to fit you better.”

The drawer slid open with smooth ease. Yelena fiddled with the harness, before securing it to her hips. 

“Lean back,” they instructed, patting the bed. 

Yelena leaned against the headboard, feeling the cool metal bars touch their bare skin. 

They crawled over to sit in front of her. They wedged a thigh in between Yelena’s legs, pressing the strap to rub just right against her clit. 

Her breath hitched. 

Yelena’s fingers reached to cup their ass, pulling them closer. They hummed, curling their fingertips tenderly around Yelena’s neck.

“Is this ok?” they whispered. 

She nodded.

They leaned in, the fingers gently encircled around her neck guiding her into the kiss as they closed the space between them. Beneath their fingertips, they could feel Yelena’s pulse thrum as they guided her lips to meet theirs. Yelena allowed them to tilt her face into the kiss. She felt their side bangs tickle them side of her face. As their soft lips began to brush against her own, Yelena felt the metal frame of her glasses against her cheek. She pulled away, and their eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Yelena smiled, and reached up to remove their glasses, which threatened to slip off. She gently placed it on the bedside table with a quiet clink. Their eyes lit up in understanding, and pulled her in. They giggled into the kiss, but the laughter faded as the kiss deepened. They tasted remnants of whisky, but couldn’t tell whether the taste came from the other, from themself, or perhaps even both.

They decided they liked the taste. Rolling Yelena’s lip underneath their teeth, they broke the kiss, slowly trailing their lips down her body. 

She moaned as their lips latched onto her neck beside the curled grasp of her fingers, teeth grazing her skin as they sucked. 

Their lips dragged down, leaving angry red marks trailing down her body. Yelena groaned. In retaliatory reflex, her fingernails scratched blossoming lines into their back. 

With her free hand, Yelena traced a finger down their opening, gathering the moisture on her fingertip before stroking up and down their slit. They bucked their hips at the sudden contact, causing the knee wedged in between Yelena’s thighs to press deliciously hard into her clit. She sharply inhaled, and began to grind against their knee. 

“Fuck, you’re sopping,” Yelena smirked, rubbing slow, pressured circles around their nub. 

Their thighs trembled as her finger, slick with their wetness, teased with experimental flicks. They felt their own knee grow moist as she rolled her hips against it, riding the firm pressure against her clit. 

Her fingertip slipped away. They cursed, and grabbed her hand, roughly placing her palm against their opening as they moved to grind against their hand. “Wait,” Yelena whispered. She gently removed the fingers gripping her hand. She dragged her fingertip around their entrance. Looking up at her for affirmation, dark eyes met hooded, hazed amber. They gazed back through their lowered eyelashes and nodded. 

The finger slipped in easily. She teased the spongy insides with a crooked finger, searching for the right bump to press against. 

“Stop teasing,” they gritted, pushing their knee harder into her crotch. Yelena’s thighs quivered, and she quickly added a second finger as she stretched them out. 

They grabbed Yelena’s hips, and straddled their lap. “Hurry up and slide it in,” they demanded, squeezing their fingernails around her throat with a growing firmness. 

She gasped at the sudden intensity, and obediently guided the strap into their entrance. It slipped in smoothly, and the ridges of the dildo brushed against her perfectly as she bottomed out in them. 

“Good girl,” they praised as they bent to latch their mouth around her nipple. Yelena’s hips stuttered, and she bucked up into them with a shuddering moan, thrusting deep. They sucked hard, reaching a hand down to tease Yelena’s clit. 

“Yes, fuck!” she gasped, thrusting faster. She could feel the drag of the dildo against their insides, and she fell into the rhythm set by the tempo of rough, callused fingers as they rubbed against her achingly sensitive nub. 

Their fingernails dug into her neck, and Yelena’s eyesight grew hazy. Her body moved on its own, as she let her mind slip to pure sensation. They bit her shoulder, and she whimpered, grinding down on their hand as her hips shuddered with one last thrust before her body collapsed onto the soft mattress. 

They bounced on her lap a few more times before they came with a deep sigh. Carefully, they slipped off of the dildo, leaving wet residue glistening on the purple silicone. 

They sighed, flopping beside Yelena. “Thanks,” they grinned lazily. “Needed that.” 

Yelena rolled her jaw with a satisfying crack as she yawned, before flipping her body off of the bed. 

“Mind if I take a bath?” she asked, gathering her clothes under her arm. 

“Yeah, sure!” they gesture vaguely to the door. “There’s a bathroom right on the left.”

“Great, thank you.”

  
  


A pack of face masks sat on the counter, beside the toothbrush rack. Reading the label off the package, Yelena stretched as she waited for the tub to fill up. The warm spray of water washed the tears from her eyes and the sweat from her skin, filling her with a warm, bone-deep relaxation. She surveyed the assortment of bottles to the side of the bath, and after some deliberation, selected a red bath bomb. 

She watched it melt into the water, bleeding into the bath. “And what if one of the gods does wreck me out on the wine-dark sea?” she asked aloud. 

Taking in a deep breath, she sunk into the water, allowing her entire face to submerge. She opened her eyes, and watched faint bubbles rise through the murk into the steamy air. Idly, she swirled her hair, back and forth. There was a delay between the jerk of her head and the responding swish of her hair.

_Is this what it is like to live forever drowned at the bottom of the sea?_

She sat up, and the water slid off of her skin in slow droplets. Yelena stepped out of the bath, letting it drain as she wrapped herself in the towel, wringing her hair to a manageable dampness. After she lotioned up her legs, she stepped into her trousers, neatly french tucking the shirt into the front. With a squirt of mousse, she combed her fingers through her hair before hanging up her towel. 

She reached into her jacket for her traveling cologne spritzer, and watched her reflection uncover the bruised and marked skin of her collarbone to spray it with the scent. 

Yelena quietly slipped into the kitchen. The parted curtains above the sink allowed a stream of soft moonlight to stream into the room. They’re sitting at the table, scrolling through their phone, teacup beside them. The steam rises in lazy silver tendrils, carrying the warm smell of the fresh brew throughout the room. 

“Leaving so soon?” they asked casually, in between bites of a croissant. 

“Yeah,” she said. “I should probably get going.”

“Here, take one.” they gestured to the open box next to them. There were a few croissants inside. 

“Thanks.” Yelena grabbed one. With one bite into the soft, flaky crust, she moaned around the pastry. “Where are these from?”

“Armored Oven. It’s down on Anais and Lovelace.” 

She nodded. Holding the croissant tenderly, she slides open the front door with her elbow. 

“See you around.” 

She caught the ten o’clock train to Port Slava.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW ok i am not used to writing smut and I've been procrastinating the hell out of this chapter but I hope y'all enjoyed! 
> 
> Thank you again for the comments and the curiouscat messages they were literally so sweet ily guys
> 
> yell at me on twitter! @yelepieck


	5. The Hunchback's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yelena paid attention in those DARE anti-smoking lectures back in sixth grade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MURDER #1 DONE! finally.

Yelena slinked out from behind the pillar, holding the cold steel of the pistol to his temple. “I heard you don’t like tattoos,” she drawled, before pulling the trigger. 

The gunpowder stained his pink skin in black stipple. He fell. She reached out and caught his body, grabbing his limp neck to shoot him in the back of the head before slinging him on her back. She walked across the courtyard, before unceremoniously dumping him to the ground. 

Propping him up over the fountain, she fished through his suit. Her fingers curled around a fat cigar, a fine silk handkerchief, and the telltale sloping metal of a flask. She tucked the handkerchief and cigar in her lapel, and reached for the flask in his breast pocket. With one hand, she unscrewed it, unceremoniously dumping its contents onto his head. He reeked of expensive brandy. 

Reaching into her own breast pocket, slender fingers curled around her cool metal flask. She pulled out the flask, and unscrewed the top. The stench of petroleum filled the air. Forcing his jaw open, she poured the slick, dark fluid into his mouth. She stood back, lighting the cigar as she admired her work. His pallid corpse slumped against the pale marble. 

With a drag of his cigar, she smiled. Her lips curled. She spat. “This tastes like shit,” she cursed. “People pay the big bucks for this?” she asked the late William D’Arcy. 

The oil started to ooze from the corner of his slack mouth, dribbling down his face and wetting his whiskers. 

“It’s rude to drool,” she scolded. She flicked the burning ash onto the corner of his cheek.

Her eyes lit up with delight as the ember burst into a brilliant flame, racing across his face as it reached his drooping lips and crawled into his mouth.

She held her breath, eyes wide in anticipation.

His face exploded from the inside out. His lips peeled into a charred black, and the stench of burning flesh and blood filled her lungs. 

“Smoking kills,” she frowned sympathetically, stroking his balding head as flames began to blossom and sizzle throughout his hollow, slack cheeks. She allowed herself to enjoy the sight for half a moment more, before deciding to gently tuck the cigar in his collapsed jaw. 

Yelena turned to the pillared archway. In one fluid movement, she untied her tie, wrapping it around the column and grabbing both ends tightly. Jumping, she planted her foot in a groove of the pillar, using it as a foothold as she lifted herself up to clamber up. 

Swinging her body up to the roof, she looked at the scene below. The gala was still in full swing. It was a lovely night, not too cold nor warm: a pleasant warmth, with the occasional midnight breeze carrying the scent of salt. Lovers draped in silks whispered in the pale moonlight, arms crooked alongside the other’s as they paused their strolls to smell the jasmine vines creeping overhead in the arched peristyle. 

Yelena walked along the roof, following the scent of sharp saltwater until she reached the end of the perimeter. She looked below. Canals drifted through the city, gently leading into the port. The water glimmered under the clear September night sky. 

Her eyes narrowed, gauging the distance.  _ About 40 feet.  _ She swung her legs over the side of the roof, turned her chest towards the wall, and let herself fall. 

In a split second, she grabbed a thick handful of jasmine vine, controlling the speed of her descent as she slid down the side of the building. 

Once she was about twelve feet from the ground, her grip on the vine slackened, and she jumped, tucking her body into a tight ball. She landed, rolling smoothly into a crouch. 

Ahead, the rowboat was tied to the side of the canal. Stepping into the boat, Yelena slipped a knife out of her shoe. Cleanly, she cut the cord. The boat drifted, free of its tether, and she drifted upstream. 

In the back, there was a blanket. She grabbed it. Wrapping it around herself, she tied it around her neck, effectively creating a little hood for herself, hiding her face and upper body in the wool. 

Her hands peeked out from underneath the heavy cloak. They reached out towards the oars. The wooden handles were smooth, almost slippery, in her grasp. 

She passed under bridges, where the old men left behind the remains of today’s catch. The ground was strewn with ratty fishing nets and the stench of fish guts filled the air. Yelena wrinkled her nose. “Gross,” she said to the silent sky. 

She passed by houses, windows dark and smokestacks leaking lazy smoky wisps of dying evening hearths. Evening had long since faded to night, and dinner’s dishes dripped dry in their racks. Even the telltale hum of secret midnight cruises through the streets was absent.

She passed by empty plazas, alien and strange when stripped of its noisy throngs and bustling crowds. Remnants of the day littered the ground: a skeletal picture without its flesh. Rustling, empty bits of trash scattered about, carried on the gentle breeze. 

It was so quiet and peaceful and... _ still _ , she frowned. She pulled to the side of the canal, at a small residential dock. 

Across the dock, she saw a tree, leaning over the side of a garden wall under the weight of its pomegranates.  _ The ripest ones are always at the top _ . She stood on her tippy toes, reaching for the highest fruit. With a twist, it slid off the branch and into her eager hands. 

Yelena strolled through the streets, biting through the fruit’s skin and spitting the husk in chunks until at last, she could split it in half. She scraped the seeds out with her fingernail, rolling them between her molars until she smashed them in between her teeth. The juice squirted, tinting her tongue in tartness. It dripped from her lips in thin rivulets, staining them ruby red. 

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. 

Licking her fingers clean, she tossed the carcass into some garden, and pulled out her burner phone.  _ Sending love!— Lenuchka _ . She clicked send, and tucked the phone back into her pocket. 

Then, she started to run. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yelena move over, where's pieck? how long is this night gonna be, it's been five chapters!!! 
> 
> at LAST we get to see our favorite sleep-deprived girl next chapter 
> 
> see you guys soon!


	6. The Fisherman and the Jinni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't wish for what you're not prepared to receive.

Pieck’s arm slapped the desk, blindly feeling for her phone as she tried to silence the alarm. Her fingers grasped the phone. Blearily, she lifted her face from her notebook, meeting her reflection in the dark screen. Her hair was a complete mess, and there was ink smudged on her cheek. “Shit,” she mumbled.

She lifted herself to her feet, steadying herself with one hand on the chair as she found her balance. After some deliberation over which iteration of white blouse and dark bottoms she should wear, she tucked a pair of black trousers, a top, and some underwear under her arm. On her way to the bathroom, she grabbed a towel from the hallway closet.

An egg timer sat on the counter, beside the toothbrush rack. Setting the timer for five minutes, Pieck stripped, folding her pajamas on the counter before grabbing her toothbrush and stepping into the shower. 

The cold spray of water washed the grogginess from her eyes, and filled her with a tingling cool alertness. She pumped exactly a quarter of Dr. Bronner’s into her hands before rubbing it into her scalp, and squirted the excess soap in her hand towel. With a methodical precision, she scrubbed from the top down, scratching the coarse cloth behind her ears, behind her legs, and between each toe. When her body was satisfyingly raw, she grabbed a bottle of conditioner, working it through her locks. She let the conditioner settle for a few minutes as she coated her toothbrush in paste, scraping the taste of morning breath off her tongue. As she spat out the remaining toothpaste, she rinsed out the conditioner from her hair, shutting the water off just as the egg timer began to ring. 

She wrapped herself in the towel, wringing her hair to a manageable dampness. After she lotioned up her legs, she stepped into her trousers, neatly french tucking the blouse into the front. With a squirt of curl cream, she scrunched her hair before hanging up her towel. 

Pieck quietly slipped downstairs to the kitchen. The parted curtains above the sink allowed a stream of soft morning light to stream into the room. Porco was sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone, coffee cup beside him. The steam rose in lazy silver tendrils, carrying the warm smell of the fresh brew throughout the room. 

He looked up from his phone as she pulled out a chair to sit across from him. 

“Good morning, Pock.” she greeted. 

He snorted, putting away his phone. “Still using that nickname? We aren’t five anymore.” Porco paused, examining her. “You look like shit, Pieck.”

Pieck snorted. “You shouldn’t pick fights with people who’ve been babysitting all night!” 

She reached across the table for his coffee. Before he’s realized it, she’s taken a sip. 

“Damn, you’re fast!” he exclaimed. “Here I was thinking you’re tired as hell.”

“Looks can be deceiving, my dear Pock.” 

He waved his hand. “Yeah whatever. That one was for you, anyways.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Colt’s trying to wean you off caffeine, but I’ve got your back.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s trying this  _ again _ ?”

“Yeah, last night he saw all the cute little posters those kids at the school made.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Did you know caffeine is a drug?” 

She looked at him, unimpressed. “We literally work in Marley’s Intelligence Agency and you just now realized that caffeine is a stimulant?”

Someone’s ringer went off. Both of them checked their phones. 

“Reiner’s on his way in twenty to pick up the kids for school,” Pieck read aloud. 

“Yeah,” Porco responded. “Says thanks for the sleepover, he owes you big time.” 

“Sure,” she absently replied. She scrolled through her recent notifications. An email from the agency, reminding everyone that the annual Bring-Your-Kid-To-Work-Day was coming up in a few weeks. Another from Falco’s school, announcing a new fundraising effort. She glanced around the room at the worn, sagging couch, quite literally on its last legs as the broken post was held up by a stack of phone books.  _ Yeah _ ,  _ good luck with that. _

She had one unread text from  _ Glasses _ .

_ 8 PM:  _ Wanna swing by the bar?

Pieck clicked on the message, her fingers rapidly typing out a response.  _ Sorry, was watching the kids, just saw this.  _ She tapped send. 

A few moments later, her phone dinged. 

_ 6 AM _ : _ It’s ok! You can make it up to me by swinging by the lab for lunch. _

______________________________

“See you tonight, ok? Gotta go to a scene right now,” Porco said as he walked her to her desk. 

“Yeah, remind Colt he’s on dinner duty though, ok?” Pieck poked him in the side. 

“My cooking isn’t  _ that _ bad!”

“I never said it was, but if the shoe fits…”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The kids’ll be at Reiner’s, can you pick them up? I dunno how long this case is gonna take today.” 

“Sure,” she smiled, pulling her neatly tucked-in chair out from the desk to sit.

“See ya,” he patted her on the back, turning to walk down the hallway. 

Pieck unscrewed her thermos, and curls of steam carrying the scent of fresh coffee drifted away to freedom. She cracked her fingers, took a sip of the burning hot caffeine, and started to chip away at the mountain of paperwork on her desk. 

After a few hours, she’d made decent progress. So far, she’d filed and double-checked the info on some past murders. Petty stuff, really. Stabbings in the south from a few years back, the passion killings from last week. She yawned, and reached for her coffee. Tilting it backwards, she expectantly opened her mouth. A single lazy drop dripped into her mouth. 

She glanced at the clock.  _ Empty already at 12? _

She frowned, turning back to her paperwork, notating in the margins with neat red ink. 

She heard footsteps, and then felt the distinct feeling of someone hovering over her shoulder. 

“Ooo, those must be some exciting reports! You’re totally immersed!” 

Pieck poked Hange in the side. “Yeah, they’re absolutely fascinating.” She gently rested her pen down on the desk, and stood, wrapping her fingers around her lunchbox. 

She followed their long strides down the hallway into the elevator. “So I’m there at the table, right?” they rambled, gesticulating wildly. “And this total babe is checking me out. Not that I can blame her, my ass was fat in those jeans.”

The elevator bell dinged. The doors slid open to reveal a blonde woman with an immaculately shaped bob. Her perfectly pressed power suit barely wrinkled as her slender legs strided into the elevator. 

Hange dry swallowed. “Good afternoon, Director,” they choked. 

She smiled thinly. “Hello, Investigator Zoë.” Her delicate chin tilted in Pieck’s direction. “Agent Finger.” 

“Good afternoon,” Pieck replied. 

“We’re having a briefing in ten minutes. Level four, room 420.”

Hange’s eyes widened. 

Pieck met her grey eyes. “Yes ma’am, we’ll be there.” 

The elevator dinged again, and smoothly glided to a halt. “I will see you both soon,” she replied, turning to exit. The tap of her high heels faded as it followed her footsteps out of the elevator and into the hallway and beyond. 

As soon as the elevators slid shut, Hange squealed. 

“She’s so  _ cool! _ ” they squealed. “She was  _ instrumental _ in the Paradis missions, what, 20 years ago? She literally was the only person to try to stop the testing fiasco!” 

“Yeah, but she wasn’t successful.”

Hange frowned. “But she still was the only person who tried to do the right thing.” 

“I guess,” Pieck sighed, “but the damage still happened.” 

“But now she’s in charge, Pieck! No wonder our relations with Paradis are getting better!” 

“Hange, we’ve been coworkers for what, five years?”

Their brows furrowed. “Yeah, I think?”

“When are you going to get  _ laid _ , Hange? Your crush on our boss was funny at first but now it’s just kinda sad.”

“Hey! I get more than you!” they argued. 

Pieck rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. At least I have an excuse.”

“Babysitting grown men and their respective kids is  _ not _ an excuse!” Hange laughed. “On  _ god _ we’re getting you some pussy.”

“Whatever. I could get some if I  _ wanted _ .”

“Oh!” Hange exclaimed as the elevator doors opened. They stepped out, and Pieck followed them down the hallway. “I forgot what I was talkin’ about earlier until right now. So I’m there, right? Ass fat as ever in my jeans as I lean over the pool table. And this  _ smoking _ hot blonde walks in. So you know, I show off a bit, right?”

They turned down the hallway, and fiddled with the key card around their neck. It scanned, and the light beeped green. The lock’s cylinder clicked, and the handle opened with ease as they stepped into the lab. 

Hange straddled the spinny chair, resting their chin on the top of the backrest as they grinned up at Pieck. “So this blonde totally checks me out, I win, and then I order us some whisky, you know?” 

They kicked their foot out to send themself and the chair hurtling across the room to the minifridge. They backbended, searching for their lunch as they dangled upside down. “Anyways, Levi absolutely does  _ not  _ like her. He keeps shooting me these judgy looks, right?” 

Pieck nodded, rummaging through her own lunchbox. She pulled out a yoghurt, and skimmed the top with her spoon. 

“Anyways, we boned. She was kinda weird about me turning around as she took her shirt off, but you know what? I respect women! Sometimes people are shy!” 

Their drifting fingers settled on a tupperware. 

“Bingo!”

They grabbed the tupperware, and swung back up, knocking the door of the minifridge firmly in place with their elbow. 

“Is this your way of telling me I should take you up on your offer to go out drinking?” Pieck teased, scraping her spoon around the walls of the yoghurt cup.

“Maybe!” they grinned, popping open their tupperware to take a bite out of a kotlet. 

“How do you always bite so neatly?” Pieck asked, squinting as she aimed her empty yoghurt cup into the bin. 

“Dunno! I’m just talented,” they laughed. 

“They’re always this nice crescented shape.” Pieck’s arm released, sending the container hurtling through the air. It crashed neatly into the bin. 

“SCORE!” Hange hollered. 

Pieck turned to smile at them. “You should get a talent agent or something. I bet you’d be a killer actor in one of those food commercials where they always take a perfect bite out of an ice cream bar.” 

Pieck paused, glancing around the lab. “Where’s Moblit?” she asked. 

Hange raised a single finger for pause as they chew. After they swallowed, they responded. “He’s on an active case right now. He didn’t tell me the details, but apparently, they’re working overtime on a big one.” Their eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, maybe that’s what the Director’s meeting with us about.”

Pieck checked her phone. “Speaking of which, we should probably head back now. We have about three minutes.” 

They groaned. “Barely five minutes to eat? That sounds criminal.”

She snickered, zipping her lunchbox shut. “I’ll trust an expert like you to sniff out crime.” 

“You better!” Hange swung to their feet, following Pieck out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg i think this is my longest chapter yet.... Finally, more pieck and hange! 
> 
> ALSO TOMORROW IS THE LAST EPISODE. WE GET PIKULENA GUN SCENES. HOW ARE WE FEELING, LGBT NATION????
> 
> thank you again for the comments they literally made my day. love y'all!
> 
> yell at me on twitter: @yelepieck

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this has been cooking in the back of my brain ever since @ohofcourses made me watch Killing Eve. I'm absolutely obsessed with Yelena and Pieck, and thought that their dynamic would fit the AU SO well. 
> 
> Please feel free to leave constructive criticism in the comments! I love hearing feedback from y'all and I'm so excited to finally start publishing this fic.


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